


End Where I Began

by Cyrn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mentions of Mercedes/Anette, Pining, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22505716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrn/pseuds/Cyrn
Summary: Coming back to the monastery after five years, Sylvain has trouble seeking both direction and courage to chart his own path in this war. Felix helps in the only ways he can.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 195





	End Where I Began

**Author's Note:**

> While this poem did not inspire this fic, the title is taken from the poem, A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning, by John Donne, which was introduced to me shortly after completing the fic. While (fret not) there is no actual mourning in this fic, I loved the last stanza, and would highly recommend it to anyone interested.

Five years, Sylvain had realised, was a long time to be thinking of someone.

 _That’s right, thinking,_ Sylvain stubbornly thought to himself, pulling his rain slicker around him closer. _Thinking_.

Thinking couldn’t quite well account for how he had wandered out into the woods surrounding the monastery in the middle of a rain storm, but. As the rain had started coming down earlier, Sylvain had ducked into a covered walkway facing the now-defunct training arena. 

In coming back to inhabit the monastery, taking stock of the amenities and supplies had been a top priority. Thankfully, most of the essentials were untouched, with most of the damage being sustained in other areas — the cathedral, half of the stables and the training arena. It was a pity, everyone had murmured, with tears in Mercedes’ and Marianne’s eyes as they surveyed the shattered stained glass of the cathedral. But it was the general consensus that it was thankfully nothing they couldn’t live without.

Apparently, Felix had silently disagreed.

Felix, who was coming into view between the rain soaked trees, using their trunks as practice dummies.

He didn’t seem to notice him, but Sylvain knew better than that. He knew that five years of war would do something to your awareness of your surroundings. Once he came within hearing distance, Felix whirled around to face him, sword raised.

Sylvain raised his hands up in surrender, letting himself stare at the rain rolling down the curve of Felix’s jaw (anything to stop his eyes from wandering to stare instead at the way his white shirt stuck to the lean shape of his chest and—).

“What are you doing here?” Felix frowned, the rain collecting on the downwards slope of his brows.

“... Would you believe me if I said I wanted a leisurely walk?”

“No,” Felix gritted out, his frown deepening before he whirled back towards the tree trunks, already marked up by his dull sword.

“Well, alright then, I won’t say that.”

“If you’re just here to annoy me you might as well put yourself next to the tree as a good moving target.”

Sylvain glanced at the clearing around them, a number of smaller trees already felled, their stumps already cut too short to be much of a good training dummy. 

“I’m good, thanks.”

He watches Felix for a while, each movement precise and focused as he continued to drive welts into the rough bark of the tree. The rain seemed to be no deterrent, even with his thin shirt plastered against his back, his ponytail limp with water. 

As children, Felix had always run to him at the slightest hint of a distressing situation. _A crybaby_ , the three of them had laughed while wiping away Felix’s tears, before Felix had learned to protest. _Why do you always come running to me,_ Sylvain had huffed once in a fit of tired exasperation.

 _Because you always know what to do_ , Felix had mumbled, clutching on to the tails of Sylvain’s coat. _And Ingrid’s scary._

It’s been about that long since Sylvain has felt sure he knew the definitive answer to anything. 

Meeting Felix and Ingrid on the outskirts of the academy had felt like a payoff to a long bet made; that he _hadn’t_ been foolishly sentimental as his father had grunted when Sylvain had mentioned attempting to look into the rumors of Dimitri surviving. He caught the flecks of hope in his old friends’ eyes, but they barely found time to exchange pleasantries before they heard the cries of their comrades.

Seeing everyone again felt like coming up for air without knowing that he had been holding his breath.

Growing older, the baby fat on Felix’s cheeks had worn away, so had Sylvain’s certainty in the answers the world were demanding of him. And with Sylvain’s waning faith, it seemed like Felix’s single-minded determination towards his own brand of problem solving only grew.

Sylvain’s true opinions only ever existed, well-padded in humor and meaningless flirtation. He sometimes wondered if Felix really knew how much Sylvain had come to admire the person he had become. 

“Stop it,” Felix’s voice jarred him out of his thoughts.

“I would, but I’m not doing anything,” Sylvain chuckled, wiping the rain off his brow. It wasn’t much of a lie.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Felix muttered, and Sylvain could almost hear the glare in his voice. “It’s annoying”

“Truly, an honor,” Sylvain drawled, his lips quirking up at the thought. “I’ll do my best to be less intrusive.”

“ _Lies_ ,” and this time Felix turns the full force of his glare on him. “I can feel you staring at me. If you’re not here for anything just go back.”

“... What if I wanted to train with you?”

Felix looks him up and down distrustfully. The rain slicker was bulky, but the sheath of a sword was absent, and Sylvain wasn’t carrying a lance either.

“Then you should have brought a weapon and a better lie.”

Sylvain shrugs, caught out. He hadn’t been thinking of training, not really. 

“Okay, so I didn’t come here to train with you.” Felix raises an eyebrow at the statement, speaking volumes of its own. _Obviously. And?_

Ever the one who had cut through all his crap throughout their teenage years, Sylvain wasn’t sure what to tell him. 

_What would be a good way to say ‘I have no idea what to do myself and it’s driving me insane because everyone else seems to, especially you’?_

Reconstruction work aside, depending on their skills and specialities, everyone seemed to be finding useful ways to fill their time at the monastery. 

Mercedes and Annette often assisted in the care of the sick, or the training of the mages in the army. Sylvain knew that Ingrid has dedicated her afternoons to directing care of the monastery’s various animals — apparently there was no one else who had much clue about wyverns, so Ingrid stepped in to fill the role. The professor has been sighted at an assortment of tasks — helping out in the kitchens, fishing, checking up on Dimitri, extra training… The list seemed endless. 

Someone always needed an extra pair of hands for an odd job or two, and Sylvain was always a willing warm body. Yet, catching Ashe at his newfound pursuit of equestrianism and Lysithea with her tomes… He felt the same slow-dawning breathlessness which had suffused him in the five years past.

It’s different from the feeling he had at the frontlines of Gautier territory, being among his men while a deep hum of pain echoed around them, accompanied by the unspoken whisper of inevitable defeat. It was different from the hushed quiet in the Gautier residence itself, only broken by the click of his father’s heels, papers shuffling, doors slamming to cut off shouted commands. 

It feels like a special brand of weakness to admit that the purposeful bustle of the academy was its own kind of deafening breathlessness.

 _You always know what to do_ echoes in his head, the Felix of years ago looking up to him for direction. _Not anymore, not right now,_ Sylvain thinks to himself helplessly. 

The Felix of the present was still standing in front of him, rain-soaked and his raised eyebrow quickly descending into a glare.

Sylvain’s gaze darted to the mauled tree trunks behind Felix, his sword in hand, rain dripping off its tip.

Felix never lacked purpose or direction, Sylvain thought to himself, wondering why he didn’t think of a better reason to be here. Instead of answering, he pulls out another rain slicker from under his own, and offers it to Felix.

Felix just stares.

“... It’s raining,” Sylvain comments, waving his other hand in a useless gesture at all the rain around them.

“... I’m fine,” Felix frowns, shifting his weight to his other foot. “It’s just rain.”

 _I’ve experienced worse,_ goes unsaid between the both of them.

Sylvain shrugs, and shakes the rain slicker at him anyway. He knows and yet, “well I’ve already brought it here, so.”

“It’ll get in the way of my drills,” Felix insists, stepping back towards the trees.

As if on cue, a flash of lightning lights up the dim clearing, with thunder echoing hurriedly after.

The set of Felix’s glare at Sylvain is nothing short of hilarious, and even in his mild melancholy, Sylvain can’t help but laugh at his expression.

“What?” Sylvain grins at the Felix’s deepening frown. “It’s not like _I_ called upon the gods to dramatically punctuate your statement.” He wouldn’t argue that it had been handy though. He shakes the rain slicker again, gesturing a bit more purposefully, this time at the trees around them.

“I’m sure you know enough about thunder-based magic to make the deduction about why it wouldn’t be great to be surrounded by trees.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Felix hisses, grabbing the rain slicker from his hand and putting it on, on top of his drenched clothes. “I was already wet, it’s not like this will help anything.”

“Just a little reprieve,” Sylvain suggests, a smile still curling at his lips, and at Felix’s glance, he wonders if that had been a little too honest.

_A reprieve for who exactly?_

Before he can say anything else, Felix is already looking away, walking back the way Sylvain had come. They’re almost at the gate of the monastery before Felix coughs, and Sylvain glances down at him.

“... You didn’t have to come look for me, I would’ve been fine.”

Sylvain catches the barest hint of Felix’s cheek at the edge of his rain slicker’s hood, more gaunt than he can remember it ever being. The corner of his lips was doing its funny twitch as it always had when Felix was trying to be polite.

He feels a chuckle bubble within his chest, twisting around well-worn affection.

“Well, then you wouldn’t have known that the dining hall is making meat pies for supper today,” Sylvain hums.

“... I would have found out eventually.”

Sylvain makes a non-committal noise, and takes Felix’s not-quite-thanks for what it is.

As the entrance hall doors close behind them, both Sylvain and Felix take off their rain slickers, shaking the wet off them as much as possible. Sylvain hands his off to a waiting guardsman, who will hand them back to the supply store. He watches Felix make a mildly disgruntled noise at the sleeve of the slicker sticking to the wet sleeve of his shirt, not without some amusement.

“... I’ll see you in the dining hall in an hour then,” Felix states, and Sylvain can’t help but blink at him.

It feels normal, and yet not, not since everyone has been finding their own pace and schedules and Sylvain has felt strangely directionless in purpose. They hadn’t had supper, just the two of them since…

_Since five years ago?_

Sylvain nods, the nostalgia creeping up his throat as he absently shakes the wet off his boot as Felix walks away.

“... And just. Just bring a weapon next time,” Felix adds, still facing away from Sylvain

“A weapon?” Sylvain echoes, confused.

“... If you’re going to be out there, you might as well make yourself useful and spar with me,” Felix looks at him over his shoulder, a slight wariness in his eyes, before looking away. “Unless you were just finding reasons to slack off—”

“Is that what we’re calling concern for old friends nowadays?” Sylvain laughs, a warmth curling in him despite the wet cold.

Felix snorts in response, continuing to make his way towards the dorms. “Whatever lets you sleep better at night.”

Hilariously, Sylvain thinks it really might.

+

“May I sit with you?” Sylvain looks up at Mercedes, squinting against the morning sun behind her.

“I can never say no to you,” Sylvain grins, as Mercedes just smiles, unperturbed, and sits daintily on the rubble next to him. Sylvain breaks off a piece of the bread he’d gotten from the dining hall, offering it to her.

“It’s just bread but—”

“That’s more than enough. Thank you Sylvain,” Mercedes nods gratefully, accepting the mid-morning snack. Around them, soldiers and their friends are clearing the rubble from the destroyed parts of the stable and the wall. Sylvain himself had gotten an early start on it, so he figured he deserved a break.

He glances at Mercedes next to him, still unused to the short bob she now wore, a few locks tucked behind an ear. Wearing a plain white blouse, the sleeves rolled up to assist with the reconstruction, Sylvain can’t help but notice how the shirt hangs off her, a little more loosely than he remembers seeing before.

She catches his gaze, still smiling as she swallows her bite of bread. “I know there aren’t as many pretty girls around nowadays,” she jokes, “but…” She looks down at her lap, cheeks coloring. “... But perhaps this is a good time to let you know that I’m already spoken for.”

Sylvain blinks, surprised, but can’t help smiling at his friend’s quiet happiness.

“I would never have dared, Mercedes,” he chuckles, wiping the crumbs off his pants. “You’ve always been too good for me.” At the sharp glance she casts him, he waves her off, gesturing at her to carry on.

“Is it…?” And he looks pointedly towards the stables, where Annette and Ingrid are trying to shepherd the horses to a temporary holding pen while they clear the debris out.

“Yes,” Mercedes nods, and Sylvain switches to watch her instead, her gaze fond and soft. Sylvain feels his chest squeeze around him, tight with secondhand affection for his two friends.

He remembers hushed conversations in the quiet of the church, back when they were students. Mercedes had cajoled him into joining her in prayer on occasion, and while he had never been particularly religious, he had appreciated the quiet of the cathedral all the same, with the presence of his friend. They talked with the seriousness of a confessional in the quiet hall, and Mercedes had admitted that she struggled balancing her faith and exceptional feelings for her oldest friend. Sylvain, for once, found no words nor courage to voice his own empathy, and was only able to nod and listen as he felt an ache in his own heart. 

“I’m glad it worked out,” he smiles, nudging her in the side lightly. 

“So am I,” Mercedes agrees, as she finishes the last of her bread. “War is…” She trails off, sighing. “Well, you know just as well as I, I think,” she looks to him, and he nods, tiredly knowing. 

She pats his arm, offering him a smile. “It’s important to hold on to what we have, as much as it is to push forward I think.”

His heart thuds. “Does war make us both weary _and_ cryptic, my dear Mercedes?”

She smiles, eyes crinkling up in sincerity, and suddenly Sylvain is reminded of how glad he is to have found her again.

“I’m just saying what I think, honestly,” she shrugs, standing up. He feels the warm pressure of her hand on his head this time, ruffling his hair lightly. “We have all suffered and hurt but… It would be wasteful to not treasure what the Goddess blesses us with. What we’re able to still do and… Who still stands next to us.” She glances over her shoulder at Annette, still busy with the horses. 

“Whoever makes the war worth fighting for,” she murmurs, meeting his gaze again. “Whoever… Makes us braver than we think,” and Sylvain’s heart swells again.

(He thinks of a dozen faces and figures and moments, and remembers the damp smell of a cold breeze, of the wet on rain-slick swords.)

He hugs her, because he can’t help it, and feels the soft rise of her chest against his in a laugh.

“Sweet as always, Sylvain,” she hums, patting the back of his head once more. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

\+ 

The imperial forces are upon them before they’re truly ready. _Not that anyone is ever_ truly _ready for war,_ Sylvain thinks to himself grimly, surveying the troops from the spires of the monastery. The hurried rush to bear arms and suit up for battle is achingly familiar by this point, and Sylvain takes one last glance at how the Imperial troops seem to be spreading out before making his way to his own armor and war horse. 

It is to be a defensive battle, and Sylvain holds his position in the line while surveying the grounds around them, the enemy coming into sight. 

_We’re outnumbered_ , Sylvain thinks to himself, and he feels the thought register in his allies and friends around him as they settle into guarded stances. _But that hasn’t stopped us before._

They launch an offensive once the Professor calls for it, and if not for the seriousness of the situation, Sylvain would marvel at how everyone works as fluidly as they had five years ago, if not more.

At the Professor’s command, Felix closes in on the two soldiers Sylvain had been fending off, landing decisive hits and felling them before they can make any headway in crowding out Sylvain. He nods at his old friend, as they descend upon another pair of soldiers coming at them, and they fall into the practiced rhythm of battle until—

“Sylvain! Pull back!” The Professor yells, darting off to his right, tailing Dimitri. “Take command while I get Dimitri back!”

(For a split second, he just watches them disappear and he can’t _breathe_.)

“SYLVAIN!” Felix roars, breaking him out of his daze. He glares back at Sylvain from where he’s fighting off three soldiers with Annette, and still manages to successfully perform a low-sweep on one of them. “What are you waiting for?!”

“I—”

“GO!” Felix shouts, barely managing to whirl around to disarm the soldiers who had been trying to come at him from behind.

Sylvain reins his horse backwards, mouth dry. He circles around to the Professor’s last vantage point and— 

And catches Felix’s glare from yards away, another group descending upon them. 

“Felix, Annette, behind you! Three mages and two fighters approaching the central path!” Sylvain calls out, still breathless but somehow finding his voice again. “Ashe! Take down the mages before they can reach our defensive line!”

He watches Ashe acknowledge the command, peeling off from his group quickly to take aim. 

“Ingrid, push forward to intercept the group in front of you, push them back into the ditch behind them; Marianne, prepare Thoron towards the ditch and hold.” He breathes shallowly, steadying his horse as he surveys the battle.

“Hold—” He repeats, watching ingrid forcing the troops to cede ground until—

“NOW!” He yells, and— 

He hears Marianne and Ingrid’s distant shout of victory and feels it sing in his veins as he refocuses on the battlefield.

+

With most of the Imperial troops felled and the remaining retreating, the battle comes to a close. Sylvain pets his horse warily, back at the vantage point he had taken earlier in the battle. There were a few close calls where he’d rushed down to support a weakening line, but he had come back to the same point which had given him the ability to oversee the fight. 

“Sylvain,” a voice calls from behind him as he looks over his shoulder.

“Professor,” Sylvain acknowledges, voice hoarse from giving commands. He wants to say more but all he can hear is a low buzz of white noise in his mind, tired and unused to being called upon to direct battles of this scale. 

They offer Sylvain a rare close lipped smile, and all Sylvain can do is blink as they pet the mane of his horse.

“I knew you had it in you,” was all they said, as they wandered off at the sight of Dimitri heading back for the monastery.

\+ 

“I didn’t think you spent time in the library.”

Sylvain turns around from where he’s seated, as he sights Felix approaching him. 

“Well, I didn’t think you even knew where the library was,” Sylvain grins, gesturing towards the seat opposite him. “Or did you crave my company so much that you were looking around for me?”

Felix makes a derisive sound at the thought, but just cranes his head to look at the books in front of Sylvain.

He quirks an eyebrow, looking up at Sylvain. “Finally getting into taking tactics seriously?”

Sylvain feels his heartbeat quicken at Felix’s assessing gaze (always seeing far too much). He shrugs as he casually shuts the book he had open.

“Not really,” he hears himself saying, chuckling. “Some girls in the village that we checked on were asking about the battle and, I mean, not that they’d know if I lied, but having some terminology to throw around would surely—”

He was cut off shortly by the harsh drag of Felix’s chair against the floor as he stood up suddenly. 

“Felix?”

He was met with a glare, as the chair was shoved roughly back into its original position. 

“If you think I’m going to eat up the bullshit you’re putting down, I’m not going to sit here to let you insult me,” Felix sneers.

Sylvain feels his throat close up on a forced laugh, and all that comes out is a confused sounding gurgle. “Felix what—”

“I thought you wanted to take this _seriously_ Sylvain. Was five years of war not enough for you? For all of us?” He swipes at one of the books, slamming it down in front of Sylvain. _Advanced Battalion Tactics_.

“I thought you’d— You’d finally gotten your shit together instead of skipping out on training like you did in school. Chasing skirts like your life depended on it and just floating by, pretending like you were just a pretty face.”

Felix’s grip on the back of the chair tightens, his knuckles growing white.

“We could have _died_ in that last battle,” Felix hisses, voice barely audible. “After Dimitri fucked off for his own brand of revenge, after the Professor followed and we lost our tactician.” He looks down, breaking eye-contact, and all Sylvain can do is gape.

“We were outnumbered, but you—” The swallow is audible in the quiet library, as Felix’s gaze traces the various books spread out around the table, with various bookmarks and markings, and for the first time, Sylvain actually processes how shitty his lie had been.

“Whatever. Do what you want, but I’m not sitting around to hear your bullshit,” Felix mutters, stalking off. 

_No— Wait—_

It comes out in a rush — “I’m sorry I lied,” and the words hang suspended in the quiet of the library, as the annoyed pace of Felix’s boots come to a halt. 

“I don’t— I haven’t told anyone about it yet,” he manages to cough out, chest tight and constricting his words. “I don’t know if… If it’s even going to help or…” He chuckles dryly, his gaze skittering down to the end of the table where Felix had stopped.

“Or whether anyone will even trust my input on stuff like this.”

“That’s stupid,” is the quick reply, and Sylvain’s gaze meets Felix’s own, eyes narrowed. His mouth twists with derision, planting one palm on the table as he repeats himself: “That’s _stupid_ , of course they would. They did in the invasion.”

Sylvain shrugs, it’s not like he hadn’t entertained that train of thought.

“They had no choice, it was the Professor’s decision and it was either do or die.”

“ _War_ is do or die, Sylvain,” Felix frowns. “And the Professor trusts your judgement too.”

“... It’s like you said,” Sylvain mutters, “Skirt chaser and an airhead right? First impressions are lasting and…” He trails off, the argument weak to his own ears. 

Silence. Sylvain doesn’t manage to meet Felix’s gaze.

“... Do you think so little of us?” Felix mutters, and Sylvain’s heart throbs at the thought.

“No, it’s just— No one has really…” _Looked at me and saw me for anything more than my circumstance._

He looks at Felix, and plainly knows this is untrue.

Felix snorts, a sudden, echoing sound in the empty room. “It’s rare to see you notice the crap that’s spilling out of you before you actually say it. I didn’t know you even listened to the drivel coming out of your mouth at times.”

“Why think too much if it sounds good, right?” Sylvain chuckles emptily, and the eye roll that Felix sends him is somehow almost more piercing than a glare. He feels Felix’s sigh resound in the library, as he makes a show of walking back to his chair and dragging it out. He sprawls out in it, as if it’s a throne instead of an uncomfortable wooden library chair.

 _And you say I’m dramatic_ , Sylvain can’t help but think amusedly.

He raises an eyebrow at Sylvain, asking a silent question. _So what are you going to do now?_

Sylvain’s hands arrange the untidy piles of books as he looks away, the soft shuffle of books interrupting the silence that he can’t quite fill yet. 

“Get over yourself and just do it,” Felix states casually, and Sylvain play-acts on the tight pull of his chest at the words.

He puts a hand to his heart, wincing with a sharp intake of breath.

“Dealing the _truly_ tactical blows, aren’t we Fe,” he mock-wheezes, and Felix rolls his eyes again. “Maybe you should be the one reading up on tactics instead of me.”

“No, it’s you,” Felix frowns. “You have the best eye for this,” he says, only seeming to notice his words as Sylvain stares at him at the blunt praise. 

(He can’t pull his eyes away from the dark flush under Felix’s pale skin.)

“... Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sylvain responds, pressing his lips together to smother his grin. It’s been a while since he had been reminded of how cute Felix could be sometimes.

“I can hear your ego inflating, it’s an annoying sound” Felix muttered, looking away. “... Anyway, that’s the only time you’ll be hearing that.”

“Aw, but Fe, what if I need _reminding_ about how I have _the best_ —”

“I will cut you down before the next battle if you repeat that ever again,” Felix grits out from behind clenched teeth, and the tangle of affection in Sylvain’s chest only grows. 

“Of course you will. How will I ever repay you for your kindness in maintaining my ego’s very moderate and healthy size?” Sylvain hums, picking up the books he was already done with, slotting them back into place in the stacks. 

“Shutting up would be good.”

“Dinner sounds easier though,” Sylvain suggests, picking up the few books he still hadn’t finished. “I think there’s fish today in the dining hall.”

“... It’ll be a start I suppose,” Felix grouses, and Sylvain just grins, squeezing Felix’s shoulder tight as he walks past. 

+

Five years into the war, Sylvain was no stranger to battle meetings. If anything, the ones now were an improvement, with less grunted passive aggression, without the old men who sighed and scoffed like it was a language of its own. 

Sylvain saw the value in the Professor's orders, to bide their time for a bit, taking a few local bounties and requests to build their strength. The safety of their people couldn't be ignored, and with beasts still roaming the area, Sylvain wouldn't have felt comfortable pushing forth to neither Enbarr nor Fhirdiad. Dimitri, however, had tapped out of the meeting, having wandered out of the war room once he had heard that today's agenda had nothing to do with heading to Enbarr. It wasn’t unexpected, with the state he had been in since they had found each other again, but it was still an unfortunate moment when the doors had slammed shut behind him, the Professor wearily gesturing at everyone to move on with the discussion. 

Unfortunately, with Dimitri out of the picture and a number of the soldiers still recuperating, their already meager numbers were barely enough for them to consider clearing the bounties. 

The Professor seemed stretched thin, Sylvain thought to himself. Their expression was as impassive and calm as usual, but there was something about their pallor which made Sylvain a little concerned. 

Ingrid rubbed her temples tiredly from across him. She'd never be one to complain, but the night was wearing everyone down, with the deadline for deciding on which of the bounties would be the best choice looming with the morning. 

“Given the reports and little scouting we’ve been able to do for this one,” Ashe continued, laying flat the map he’d been looking over, “we’d be looking at being outnumbered… Almost three to one for this one too.”

It was the same verdict with most of the bounties and intel they had been looking at, and the room descended into murmurs once again as everyone considered the few options they had.

_The terrain is the biggest difference between all these maps… Given our current strength—_

Sylvain’s jostled from his thoughts by a firm kick to his calf. He blinks at Felix next to him, who has one eyebrow raised, but says nothing.

“... There are nicer ways to ask for my attention you know,” Sylvain chuckles, absently scribbling down some notes on the parchment in front of him.

“What are your thoughts?” Felix rolls his eyes, gesturing at the maps. “Surely all those big books weren’t for nothing.”

“Hahah, well! _Size_ , my dear Felix, is but _one_ —”

“I will throw this cup of hot tea on your stupid face,” Felix grits out, and Sylvain can’t help but delight in the way he can see a creeping blush at Felix’s neck.

“Well that would be a loss for all of us, wouldn’t it,” Sylvain mutters to himself, finishing up his notes. “ _And_ ,” he quickly adds, before Felix can make good on his promise, “I _do_ have thoughts, so just give me—”

“Professor!” Felix calls out, and all of the eyes in the room are suddenly on him. “Sylvain has something to say.”

The room falls pin-drop silent, and somehow, Sylvain has no words.

There’s another swift kick to his shin this time, courtesy of Felix and his steel-tipped boots and Sylvain almost falls off the chair as he glares at Felix, looking over at him as innocently as he can manage.

There’s a snort from across the table, as Ingrid looks over at the both of them with equal amounts of fondness and exasperation. 

“Sylvain?” The Professor prompts, and Sylvain fumbles to stand up.

“Uh, I was just…” He glances down at Felix — _smirking up at him_ , goddess save his soul — rare, childish amusement in his eyes, but also the same steely-eyed conviction Sylvain has always lacked.

He licks his lips, gathering his notes in clammy hands.

“... We will certainly be outnumbered on any quest we choose to take at this point, Professor,” Sylvain begins, plainly stating the facts. He waits for murmurs of derision, scoffing laughter but— none come. He catches Annette’s gaze, and there is nothing but pure concentration as she awaits his next comment, quill ever poised at the ready to take notes.

(He breathes, shallow, but steady.)

“... There is notable potential for a further depletion of our supplies and the strength of our troops if we choose to act on any of these bounties or requests. Which then leaves us to consider whether we should pursue any of these quests at all.”

His mouth is dry, and the Professor, expression as impassive as always, nods at him to carry on. 

“But I— I feel it is a risk that is worth taking. While I… Acknowledge the urgency in pushing forth to both Enbarr and Fhirdiad, to ignore the issues in the very area we are based in right now would be irresponsible of us, as people who are _able_ to protect the civilians of the area.” 

Buoyed by the nods and murmurs of assent around him, he presses on, gesturing to the the map laid out on the far right of the table.

“While the bounty on this request may not be as large as the others, the situation seems to be the most pressing, given that the village has reported that the last group of mercenaries they hired had left them a month ago. As we know from the intelligence we have on these types of beasts,” he nods to Marianne, who goes red at the attention, but nods back, “we know that their hunting frequency is likely to increase as the seasons turn.” 

“Given our current strengths, I think we have the capability to take down these six or so beasts with minimal casualties, with the greater number of highly skilled fighters we have here,” Sylvain puts forth, managing to smile at said allies around the table. 

“The terrain, also, gives rise to some possibilities.” He grabs one of the pointers lying around, gesturing towards a narrow valley at the edge of the village. “We can’t outnumber large, organised groups with our current strength, but there is the potential for launching a highly concentrated attack in this narrow area. The beasts will have nowhere to escape, once cornered.”

There are murmurs all around, as everyone cranes their necks to take a look at their map.

“And how can we direct them to that point?” The Professor asks. Sylvain isn’t quite sure, but he can almost see the barest hint of a curve at their lips.

“... That would be the dangerous part, I think,” Sylvain sighs, shifting the chips on the map around. He singles one out, pushing it towards the village marked out on the map.

“We need to bait them there. Considering our numbers, and the need for us to ready ourselves for attack at the valley, I think...” Sylvain frowns down at the single pawn. 

“... I think it would have to be a solo operation.” He looks around the table, re-evaluating the required amount of power they had to hold at the ready at the ambush point. He nods, more to himself than anyone else. “... We could possibly have two people, but that would have us running the risk of—”

“I can do it.”

Sylvain turns sharply towards Felix.

“ _What?_ Felix, that’s—”

“Are you saying I _can’t_ do it?” Felix frowns, brows furrowing in rising annoyance. 

“That’s not— I didn’t even finish the plan yet!”

Felix grunts in opposition, nodding towards the map. “I’m not stupid, you said it’s a baiting operation right?” He snatches the pointer from Sylvain’s hand, gesturing at the sole chip at the village. 

“Six beasts are likely to circle the village, so if I approach from here—” he pushes the chip towards the forest at the edge of the village, “— I can attract the attention of the group, leading them through the trees to slow them down.” He frowns up at Sylvain. “Ranged weapons like bows would be the best — the point is just to get them to the valley, and magic would leave the casters too vulnerable. I’m faster anyway.” 

Felix shoves the chip roughly across the map, in and out of forests, till it reaches the valley. 

“I’ll switch to melee here and lure them in. Even if it’s just the leader who’s attacking me, the others should follow up closely enough that the rest of us can block them in.” He glances at Sylvain, before looking back at the professor. 

“I can do it,” Felix repeats with absolute certainty, and Sylvain can only watch as the Professor nods and dismisses the meeting. 

\+ 

The worst part of these missions, Sylvain now knows, is the waiting.

There had been some last minute disagreements about how they would know when Felix and the beasts would be approaching, but the group had finally settled on sending Ingrid off as a scout — just far enough to be out of the beasts’ sight.

(Just far enough to be _too far_ if something went wrong, Sylvain couldn’t help but think.)

She would come back once Felix had successfully rounded the beasts up and hit the midpoint of the forest, leaving them a few minutes to get into position. Sylvain glanced at the Professor, who seemed inordinately at ease with the situation, chatting leisurely with Ashe and Marianne as they waited. He patted the mane of his horse distractedly, squinting into the night sky for the first sight of Ingrid.

He wished he could be as relaxed as the rest.

The plan… wasn’t bad, Sylvain conceded. After the night’s meeting had been dismissed, he had run through a few contingency plans with the Professor which would minimise casualties if the situation happened to turn for the worse. It wasn’t bad, he knew, but it was also _his_.

Sylvain tried not to think about not having been able to catch Felix before this mission.

That night, Felix had stalked off before everyone else and he had been conspicuously missing the following day too. Before Sylvain had known it, dusk had fallen, and everyone was already knee-deep in battle preparations. A few miles away from the village, the Professor had given the last brief recap of the strategy before the group had split up and—

And Sylvain had barely been able to catch Felix’s gaze before he had darted off into the night.

A warm hand comes up to rest at his arm. “Sylvain,” the Professor nods.

“Professor,” Sylvain nods back.

“Byleth,” they correct, as they had been doing for the past few weeks, and Sylvain can only chuckle.

“Byleth,” Sylvain agrees, as he gives the night sky one last glance. “Is anything the matter?”

The Professor pauses, looking up at Sylvain consideringly. “I noticed that… You seem to be more anxious than usual.”

Sylvain forces out another laugh. “Sorry, is it marring my good looks? Affecting morale?” He glances around them at his peers, none of whom seem to be paying any attention to him. Well. “It can’t be helped huh, I guess I’ll just have to put on a better expression.”

The look the Professor shoots him is nothing compared to the sharp edge of Felix’s glares, he can’t help but think, shooting his ex-teacher as carefree a grin as he can manage.

“... Your plan is sound, Sylvain,” they murmur, shifting to pat the mane of his horse. “You had a clearer view of advantages and purpose than I had in the moment. Have more faith in — ah, how do you put it? — in… More than your pretty face.”

“Prof—”

“Maybe take a leaf out of Felix’s book,” Byleth demurs, as they walk away, and Sylvain can only stare.

“Maybe war _does_ make us all cryptic,” Sylvain mutters to himself, looking back up to the night sky.

+

Everything was going as smoothly as possible, which was surprisingly distracting as Sylvain continued to hack at the beasts on his end.

The sharp hit of relief at the sight of Felix darting into view almost winded him, but he just gripped the reins of his horse tighter, holding his position behind an outcrop at one of the higher points at the side of the valley.

Once Felix had drawn them into position, putting himself in the farthest end of the valley, the melee troops and generals came out to draw the beasts’ attention at the edges of the group, effectively trapping them in. 

Dodging a flailing tail, Sylvain looked back to check on Ingrid and the other flying soldiers who dropped the mages off at their position at the mouth of the valley. 

“Mages at position!” Ingrid shouted from her position, and Sylvain nodded, pulling back to the outcrop.

“Mages!” Sylvain called out, “Prepare and hold Resonant Flames! Melee troops, prepare to fall back at my call!”

His gaze darted to Felix who still had the attention of the leader of the pack of beasts. Resonant Flames was their first offensive attack. It would scorch the narrow area the beasts were in once it hit; the fire was to be a distraction to keep them immobile while the remaining mages prepared the second offensive — Meteor. 

The plan was that all troops would pull back to the rocky outcrops at the side of the valley, where Sylvain was currently at. It would keep them out of the fire and the blast radius of Meteor. It had to work.

“Holding Resonant Flames,” Ingrid called out to him, reporting on the status of the mages.

Sylvain signaled his acknowledgement, looking back towards the others. “Melee troops, fall back! Hold Resonant until my cue in five… Four…” He watched the troops evacuate the area as he counted down.

“Three… ” Without the distraction of the other troops, the beasts collectively refocused on—

_Felix. Why is he still—_

“Two—” An aggressive swipe of the leader’s foot knocked Felix into the wall, and Sylvain could almost feel the hit second-hand, right at his solar plexus.

“ONE!” He yelled, “Flames, now!” His hands pulled at the reins before he could process what he was doing. “Prepare Meteor, hold till the Professor’s cue!” 

Distantly, he heard his name being shouted as he urged his horse down the rocky slope of the valley, rushing to beat the flames. But drowned out by the crackle of the fire and the war drum of his heart, he couldn’t respond, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—

“FELIX!” He shouted as he approached, and he could hear the fire behind him, his horse reacting to the charred stink of burning flesh and—

Felix managed to stumble to his feet, just in time for Sylvain to throw him over his horse.

With his heart in his throat, Sylvain managed to race his horse up the opposite incline just as the Professor called for Meteor. He urged his horse around, panting for his breath. He barely manages to catch the appearance of the meteors as they materialise — and as they crash down, extinguishing the flames with their force.

He couldn’t help but stare at the dead-end of the valley, where Felix had been. 

_He could have—_

The cheers around him, resounding in the closed valley, drown out the rest of his thoughts.

\+ 

They somehow both end up in the infirmary, conscious and… Surprisingly awkward.

Mercedes glances between the two of them as she finishes up the bandages on Sylvain’s leg, where he had cut it on something sharp while grabbing Felix. She had somehow managed to fill the silence with commentary and her soft humming but alas, Sylvain thinks to himself, everything has to come to an uncomfortable end. 

“We won’t be moving out for a while now, but I expect you boys to stay away from training for a while,” Mercedes states as she stands up, patting Felix’s arm. “You in particular, Felix,” she says, with no little amount of fondness. 

She looks between them, and holds Sylvain’s gaze for a second longer than expected, her smile curling up at the edges.

“You’ll be fine,” she tells them, and Sylvain can’t help but wonder how she can be so sure.

They find themselves quickly but very politely ejected from the infirmary, standing out in the barely-there light of the sunrise. He catches Felix’s gaze, shadowed by the sun behind him, and Sylvain just wants to _touch_ him, to hold him at the curve of his bandaged cheek. 

“Well, looks like our promise stands for another day huh Felix?” He chirps instead and… Immediately knows that it was the wrong thing to say.

He’s shoved up against the stone walls of the building as an immediate response, Felix’s seething face inches from his own.

“ _How can you fucking—_ Is this _funny_ to you, Sylvain?!”

His heart’s in his throat as he stares into Felix’s eyes. “I—”

“I thought you were going to actually be serious about the fact that you took a stupid risk to— To—”

“I couldn’t just—”

“You put yourself at risk, and for what Sylvain?! We barely made it out and we could have… You could have…”

Sylvain swallows, all too aware. Felix grip on his shirt loosens, Sylvain’s hands coming up to hold his arms, only to have Felix shrug away from his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” he grits out, but Sylvain can tell that the flare of his anger has simmered down, at least a little. “You’re always— I thought by actually taking tactics seriously you’d stop rushing into battle blindly,” Felix glared at him, half turning away.

“... I couldn’t not,” Sylvain mutters, and it feels like an admission of guilt. It was the truth — no amount of studying and knowledge could have prevented him from just reacting in that instant. “Especially because it was my plan.” He swallowed thickly, thinking back to the position he had put Felix in. “It wasn’t—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Felix cuts him off, jerking at his shirt to get Sylvain’s attention. “I’m sick of you finding every excuse to sell yourself short. All plans come with risks you idiot, and I took up the role as bait knowing that. I just—” Felix looks away, and Sylvain notices the harsh clench of his jaw. “I need to get stronger. I should have dodged the attack.” 

“That’s not—”

“And _you_ ,” Felix continues, turning back the full force of his glare on Sylvain, “need to stop finding excuses to fuck around.”

“I’m not!” Sylvain protests, raising up his hands in surrender. “I swear! I just…” _It was you_ , he thinks, and there is nothing else.

“Excuses,” Felix scoffs, putting some distance between them. _Come back,_ a traitorous voice echoes in Sylvain’s mind, but for once, he keeps his hands to himself, letting them down by his sides again.

Felix looks down at the ground between them, scuffing the toe of his boot. “... You did well, you know,” he mutters gruffly, and all Sylvain can see is the top of his head. “Your plan… Got us to where we needed to be. If you could actually figure out that it’s stupid of you to react without thinking—”

“But it’s you,” Sylvain blurts out, and Felix stills, his head still bowed.

“... That doesn’t change anything.”

Sylvain feels the laugh bubble up within him, incredulous and unstoppable. “That’s not true,” he says plainly, and feels the truth of the matter take shape within him as he says the words.

He thinks about Felix, four feet away and just _lying there_ on the battlefield, and feels courage borrowed from fear. Sylvain moves slowly, so as not to startle Felix, keeping his hands in sight as he reaches up to brush Felix’s fringe away.

“That’s not true,” he repeats, gaining certainty and momentum, as his hand slides down to cup Felix’s jaw. 

“Sylvain,” Felix croaks out, his eyes narrowed and mouth twisting in near-anger, opposite to his wrecked voice and the mottled red staining his cheeks. “I’m not one of your— Your _girls_. You can’t—”

“This isn’t the same,” he breathes, taking the sight of Felix in. “You know this isn’t the same.”

Felix’s hand find their way onto Sylvain’s waist, the warmth of his unbandaged palm searing through the thin cotton of his shirt. 

“If you’re fucking with me,” Felix mutters, pulling close like he can’t help but be drawn in, “I will end you.”

“I think I’d end me too,” Sylvain chuckles, and he can feel Felix’s breath against his chin. They stop, an inch away, as Sylvain swallows, just holding him.

“... Felix, you’re sure—” And Felix closes the gap for him, pressing their lips together. _It’s really just you_ , Sylvain thinks to himself helplessly, as Felix’s teeth nip at his lower lip, tongue licking roughly before he pulls back.

“You’re even stupider than I thought,” Felix scoffs, and doesn’t even bother hiding the affection in his gaze. “... Less talking, more breakfast.”

“You always know what to do,” Sylvain laughs, giddy, as he follows Felix’s lead.

**Author's Note:**

> _Such wilt thou be to me, who must,  
>  Like th' other foot, obliquely run;  
> Thy firmness makes my circle just,  
> And makes me end where I begun._
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write again. Special thanks to Amanda and Hika for their tireless cheering, beta services and enthusiasm; also thank you Momo, for jokingly telling me to write a short fic with Umbrella by Rihanna as a prompt. And now I'm stuck with this fic which has truly spiraled out of my control.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what you think about it.


End file.
